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IN THE SHADOW OF MT. TAMALPAIS 



In The Shadow of Mt. Tamalpais 

Adelbert Clark ' 



AN is a man wherever he is found 
anc 
can be. 



M 

•^'-■- and is entitled to all that a man 



YUTAKA MINAKUCHI 



Lakeport, N. n. 
1918 



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Copj^right 1918 

by 
Adelbert Clark 



Mi i2!bi8 

©GLA497964 



L 



DEDICATED TO MY MOTHER 



WHAT think you the earth will be like 
when the majority of men and 
women in it learn that to be simple and 
honest and true is the part of wisdom, and 
that to work for Love and Beauty is the 
highest good ? 

ELBERT HUBBARD 



DAYBREAK ON SAN PABLO BAY 

TT is morning, and a glory 

-*- Spreads across the quiet bay 

Like the petals of a wildrose 

Scattered, tossing with the spray. 
Silently the white-winged sea-gulls, 

Look ! are darting to and fro 
Swift in flight as Indian arrows 

Speeding from a well-aimed bow. 

All the western sky is tinted 

With the color of the rose, 
Clouds are white as foaming billows 

Or the banks of drifted snows. 
By and by, the pale pink ripples 

Turn the waves to amber hue, 
And the day has fully awakened 

And has donned her robes of blue. 



TF you have ceased to be moved by relig- 
■'- ious emotion, no longer dwell on 
poetry, and are not swayed by music, it is 
because the love instinct that is within 
you has withered to ashes of roses. 

ELBERT HTJBBARD 



IN LO-DEBAR 

ly/TANY a soul is wandering 
■^^ In Lo-debar tonight, 
Where none can save nor satisfy 

Nor give one ray of light. 
The lust of flashing diamonds, 

The love of yellow gold. 
Can temper hearts to hardest stone 

And turn them icy cold. 

Many a soul is wandering 

In Lo-debar tonight, 
Its path is in the vale Sheol, 

Without a ray of light. 
God grant that I may illuminate 

Through simple rhyme and song 
The evil, 'till Christ's sacrifice. 

Shall bar the paths of Wrong. 

God loves the soul in Lo-debar 

And fain would lift it up. 
But it rebels and stubbornly 

Turns from the golden cup. 
The proud world pleasures scintillate 

Until they cannot see 
The glory of Immanuel — 

The cross of Calvary. 



COUEAGE 

rpHERE was sunshine in your bosom 

Till the dark clouds lowering came; 
There was love that none could sever, 

Burning with a steady flame. 
Lift your head, oh fallen brother! 

Love is coming from the skies 
With her dear arms full of flowers 

From the fields of Paradise. 

All the clouds of storm that darken 

Rolling o'er the sunny way, 
You have gathered by your fretting 

And your baseless doubts today ! 
But the sweetest of all visions 

Is the one that lifts us up, 
Holding to our lips Love's potion 

In an alasbaster cup. 

Cares are only little serpents 

That we harbor all too long; 
They will turn to sting us, brother, 

Sealing lips and hearts from song. 
Would you see bright skies of azure, 

Clear of every storm and pain ? 
Then throw off that chilly mantle 

And behold your God again ! 



THE EXILE 

171 AR away in sylvan shadows 

Stands the homestead of my birth, 
By a silver flowing river, 

Dearest spot to me, on earth. 
There the birds are ever singing 

In the treetops leafy shade. 
And the wild-flow' rs are blooming 

In the damp and bosky glade. 

how fondly I remember 

Songs that mother used to sing, 
When the nightfall o'er the valley 

Spread protectingly its wing, 
O'er the little family circle 

Hallowed by a mother's pray'r. 
All of us wjre v^-atched and guarded 

From a world of pain and care. 

Now, within the ruined churchyard 

Where the trailing ivies creep, 
Lie the loved ones of my childhood 

In a long and dreamless sleep. 
And to-night, I'm sad and lonely 

In this land beyond the foam, 
For my heart is ever longing 

For my dear New England home. 



LAVENDER 

TTAVE you ever heard the story 

Of the lavender that grows 
In old gardens quaint and fragrant 

With the mignonette and rose ? 
It was in a quiet village 

Many, many years ago, 
That a maiden loved and worshiped, 

Just as maidens do, you know. 

And 'tis s^-id that she is sweeter 

Than the flowers that she grew; 
Sweeter than old-fashioned roses 

Jeweled with the morning dew. 
Sweeter than a world of flowers, 

For she conquered every strife — 
But although her face is lovely, 

No man ever called her wife. 

When she died and went to heaven, 

Lo ! she saw so much of pain 
Here on earth, she prayed the Master 

That she might return again. 
So she lives among the blossoms 

In old gardens trim and neat. 
And sweet lavender they call her, 

Just because she is so sweet. 



A FLOWER OF HEAYEN 

T XJST a little snowy blossom 

^ Full of Love and Trust and Hope 

On the waves of life's dark billows, 

Tossing in a wee frail boat. 
Just a little childish prayer, 

"Now I lay me down to sleep; 
If I die before I waken. 

Pray thee Lord, my soul to keep." 

God looked down upon the flower 

Frail and broken on the wave, 
And he took it to his bosom — 

He alone hath pow'r to save. 
Do not weep for those that's happy ! 

Do not with your bitter tears 
Spoil the sweetest flowers of Heaven ! 

Wait with patience through the years. 

We don't know the Master's secrets, 

But we know His ways are best, 
For they bring at last, contentment, 

And a sure and perfect rest. 
Just a little flower in Heaven ! 

Can't you see it blooming there ? 
Can't you hear his merry laughter? 

Can't you hear his childish pray'r? 



BARNABUS 

r\ Birnabus. the years speed by 

As swiftly as the clouds; 
The flowers droop and wither fast — 

Earth hides them with her shrouds. 
Yet love goes on unwavering 

Through night, through day, through space, 
And though the fleet years bring their pain, 

They cannot hide your face. 

Thank God for love's sweet memory ! 

It conquers every fear. 
It paints jour picture full of life 

Through all the changing year. 
Your wavey hair and bright blue eyes, 

Your gay and graceful ways, 
I see it all — love's vision dwells 

With me, these summer days. 

Barnabus, the years roll by 

But love is on the wing, 
And backward to Apostle-days, 
Of prophet, priest and king, 

1 see St. Barnabas and Paul 

Who gave their lives for men, 
I hear them speak unwritten truths — 
God's bulwarks, these have been. 



All, friend, beyond dark prison-walls 

Much good can spring to bloom, 
Just as the lily pure and white 

That grew at Joseph's tomb. 
A smile in spite of all that's dark, 

A kindly word to cheer, 
A happy song when all goes wrong, 

The dark skies soon will clear. 

O Barnabus, the years go by. 

But love goes on and on. 
Though days are dark and nights are long. 

Love keeps us brave and strong. 
So here's a hand to help you, friend, 

Through all the way along. 
And here's a heart to conquer pain. 

With Love's triumphant song. 



npHE soul grovi^s by leaps and bounds, 

by throes and throbs. A flash, and a 

glory stands revealed for which you have 

been groping blindly through the years. 

ELBERT HUBBARD 



TRAILING ARBUTUS 

rnHERE'S a flower in the woodland 

Where the pines and hemlocks grow, 
Sweeter than the rose of summer, 

Whiter than the flakes of snow. 
*Tis the breath of God, and blossoms 

For the weary passer-by, 
And it sometimes holds the blushes 

Of a rosy sunset sky. 

When the days are warm with sunshine, 

You will find it blooming there, 
And your soul will fill with gladness 

And your lips will breathe a pray'r. 
And I know that you will gather 

Just a handful for some soul 
That can never see the sunshine. 

Or like you, can take a stroll. 

O, those sweet and fragrant blossoms, 

How they cheer the troubled breast, 
How they scatter every sorrow. 

Bringing hope and joy and rest ! 
God has made them for a purpose 

And they blossom every year; 
You will find them in the woodland 

When the springtime days are near. 



THE SPIDEE'S WEB 

A spider spun his silver web 

Across a window-pane 
All blurred with dust of manj- days, 

And spattered o'er with rain. 
And then a silly fly came near 

From gardens fair and sweet, — 
A curiosity had she, 

The spider bold, to meet. 

An engineer who thought he knew 

All signals and the road, 
Wrecked four and forty souls one night, 

Not far from their abode. 
"You cannot talk to me," he said, 

"I've run for twenty years!" 
To-night, he sits behind the bars — 

His eyes are blurred with tears. 

"I have no fear," the nabob said, 

"My boy, will stain his name. 
And bring to us the curse of Cain — 

A drunkard's reckless shame." 
But lo ! he lived to see his hopes 

Go crashing down in dust. 
For boasting lips and evil thoughts, 

Are kin to pride and lust. 



BROTHERHOOD 

TVrHILE journeying through the path of life, 

If you should meet a friend 
Whose troubles seem to multiply 

Until there is no end. 
Just grasp him by the hand and say, 

"Old boy, how d'you dor" 
And say it so he'll know he's found 

A friend both stanch and true ! 

Don't tell him that he should have done, 

This thing, or that, or t'other, 
But greet bim with a strong right arm 

And be a Christliko brother ! 
Don't talk in accents weak and low, 

But speak it right out loud, 
That God will scatter sunshine soon, 

Through every rifted cloud. 

*Tis strange that selfishness should rule 

This noble world of ours; 
That men of wealth should trample down 

The weak for higher pow'rs ! 
But 'tis the same with Nature's laws, 

For lightning, wind and rain, 
Oft spoils the splendid works of man — 

Yet still he strives again ! 



A spider spun his silver web 

Across a window-pane, 
A gorgeous fly came flitting by, 

But ne'er came back again. 
The engineer, the nabob too, 

Were tangled in his thread, 
Beware, my brother, when the lights 

Are partly green and red ! 

A man of wealth once built a ship, — 

A palace fair to see, 
And boasted that it could not sii.k, 

However rough the sea. 
It left the port, two thousand souls 

Were on this splendid craft. 
It struck an iceberg, and it sank ! 

'Twas torn from fore to aft. 

The threads were broken in the web, 

But still the spider spun 
The silver strands that faintly gleamed 

Before the morning sun. 
And then he crept into a place 

Of safety, there to wait, 
For well he knew the silly fly 

Would come, to meet its fate. 



So learn to take things as tliey come, 

And sing some happy song, 
The bravest one is he who shouts. 

Somehow we'll get along !" 
Who puts his shoulder to the blast 

When storms his life enshroud, 
And trusts in Him who rules the world, 

Behind the blackest cloud. 



"VrOTHING is ever finished. Moses 
•^^ only saw the promised land, he 
never entered it. We never reach the 
promised land ourselves; we are fortu- 
nate if we only see it. The promised 
land is the ideal toward which we 
strive; to reach it would not bring 
happiness. The joy in life is in striv- 
ing, not in attaining. 

BRUCE CALVERT 



T IFE is an unfoldment, and the fur- 
ther we travel the more truth we 
can comprehend. To understand the 
things that are at our door is the best 
preparation for understanding these that 
lie beyond. 

HYPAIIA 

rpHERE are five good principles of 
-'- action to be adopted: To benefit 
others without being lavish; to encourage 
labor without being harsh; to add to your 
resources without being covetous; to be 
dignified without being supercilious; and 
and to inspire awe without being austere. 

CONFUCIUS 

AND when ye reap the harvest of your 
"^ land, thou shalt not wholly reap the 
corners of thy field, neither shalt thou 
gather the gleanings of the harvest. And 
thou shalt not gather every grape of thy 
vineyard: Thou shalt leave them for the 
poor and stranger. 

MOSES 



CONTENTMENT 

TN every sunrise and in every sunset 

I can see your happy face, 
And from a heart of simple love and virtue, 

I can feel your kindly grace. 
And when the S3a, its lullaby is singing 

Soft and low upon the shore, 
I seem to hear your voice in love-tones calling 

Me as in the days of yore. 

When night falls calm and peaceful on the ocean, 

I see a vision in each star; 
A marble p ilace towers in snowy splendor 

Somewhere in yonder realms afar. 
And in my dreams you come to me and whisper 

And hold up to my quivering lip 
The cup of Love that gives me strength forever, 

And while you softly sing, I sip. 

In every sunrise and in every sunset, 

I can see your happy face; 
Each day, each flower, brings forth something 

That prison-walls cannot deface. 
And when I watch the silver stars a-twinkle 

And think perchance you watch them too, 
The power of Love reflects your face of beauty 

For me against the heav'ns blue. 



BUTTERCUPS 

I have just come from the meadows 

Where buttercups grow; 
The sweet-scented meadows all fragrant 

With things a-blow. 
At the edge of the wood enchanted 

Lo ! I found them there. 
And each one breathed a message — 

A love-gift — a pray'r. 

And 80 I gathered a handful 

To cheer and make and strong 
The inner spirit that labers, 

And craves a song. 
For oh ! how often and often, 

The sad soul calls 
For something to love and brighten 

Its prison walls. 



OO long as we Love, we Serve. So long 
as we are Loved by others I would al- 
most say we are Indispensable; and no 
Man is Useless while he has a Friend. 

BOBEBT LEUIS STEVENSON 



EASTWARD 

/^PEN your window to the East 
^^ And watch the dawn of day, 
And hoar the singing of the birds 

Across the flowery way. 
Then learn the lesson form the Christ 

To wear a smiling face, 
Since sullen tones and gloomy frowns 

Cannot one wrong erase. 

Behold the beauty of free life 

That waits for you and me, 
For there is more of sunny skies 

Than of adversity. 
And every bit of storm that hurls 

In stern defiance bold, 
Is fashioned by the hand of God 

Who holds the sunbeams gold. 

Open your window to the East ! 

Be brave and live your life ! 
Believe them not, who tell you all 

The way is sin and strife. 
For blessedness of life, my friend, 

Is looking to the light ! 
And foolish is the man who turns 

And gropes in gloom and night. 



'CRUCIFY HIM! CRUCIFY HIM! 

T stood in Herod's hall one day, 

Where counlless treasures are, 
A marble fount, a silver god, 

A lamp like morning's star. 
I saw the proud and haughty king 

Upon a throne of gold, 
His face was pale with jealous hate, 

His heart was hard and cold. 

"Go bring the child to me," he said, 

♦'That I may worship, too," 
He touched a dagger as he spoke; 

Its blade was keen and blue. 
And this was all in Herod's time 

When Christ to ns wn.s born; 
The curse of Lucifer was there, 

To mar the golden morn. 

The days went by and Christ grew up 

And taught a simple creed; 
For him the flowers seemed to bloom 

In wood and vernal mead. 
The songbirds sang their sweetest trills, 

The clearest ever heard, 
But Lucifer was ever near 

To kill the singing bird. 



He healed the sick and gave the blind, 

Sight to their darkened eyes, 
And scattered sunshine when thick clouds 

Of grief, obscured the skies. 
But in the distant thunder, lo ! 

I heard a warning cry, 
And saw three crosses dark and drear, 

And knew that death was nigh. 

One day I stood in Pilate's hall, 

And lo ! the Christ was there; 
The same sweet smile was on his face, 

Though hate was everywhere. 
His hands were bound with cruel cords 

That cut and made them sore, 
From which great drops of blood ran down 

And stained the marble floor. 

The soldiers and the mob were there, 

(Blood-thirsty imps of hell.) 
They surged and crowded, cursed and swore, 

But Christ would not rebel. 
And Pilate in his robes of stite 

Was seated on the throne. 
And "Crucify him !" then arose 

From cruel hearts of stone. 



All this was many years ago, 

But still I hear the cry; 
I hear it every day and year. 

It haunts the earth and sky; 
I hear it from the lips of men 

Before the altar-rail, 
I hear it from the pulpit, too ! 

The curse behind the veil. 

O hypocrites ! how dare ye stand 

And break the law of Him 
Who said, Thou shalt not kill" ? beware! 

Lest thy good faith grows dim. 
Christ came not to the wcrld to slay 

The sinners in their sin. 
But soften hardened hearts that God 

The Father might ceme in ! 

But see! the day is fading now, 

For sets the golden sun, 
And from those prison walls I hear 

A groan the deed is done. 

Across the sky, the darkened clouds 

Are streaked with sunset fires; 
The emblem of a pagan scene 

In sight of gilded spires ! 



THE SEA 

T AST night the sea was beautiful, 
■^ The moon was o'er it shining, 
And as I looked my thirsty soul 

Ceased all its sad repining. 
Its many silver ripplelets 

A pearly path was making, 
And as I looked I had a dream — 

My soul to Love was waking. 

And o'er that path so beautiful, 

The sound of voices singing, 
Filled all my soul with heavenly light — 

God's love to me was bringing. 
And when I woke the ripplelets, 

Kept up their joyful measure 
And made a song that filled the world 

With hope and bounding pleasure. 

Last night the sea was beautiful. 

The moon was o'er it shining, 
And as I looked, my thirsty soul 

Ceased all its sad repining. 
It brought to mind sweet happiness, 

And set the joy-bells ringing. 
And taught me how to live through grace 

And bless the days with singing. 



EASTER VESPERS 

A S the veil of twilight lowers 
O'er the golden breast of day, 
And the crimson cloudlets deepen 

Into bars of sober gray, 
From the lofty towers and steeples, 

Sweetest music ever heard 
From the soul-inspiring zither. 

Or the warbling notes of bird, 
Sound the silver bells of Easter, 
On the still and frosty air, 
Rising, falling, 
Ever calling, 
All the people unto prayer. 

Like glad souls of hovering spirits. 

Lilies swing in perfect time, 
And the sweetness of their perfume 

Seems to breathe a love sublime. 
Soon across the brow of heaven, 
Jewels of the night appear; 
Angel faces looking downward 

Through the wintry atmosphere, 
Listening to the bells of Easter 
On the still and frosty air, 
Rising, falling. 
Ever calling, 
*♦ 'Tis the sacred hour of prayer." 



As the gath'ring twilight deepens 

Bringing with it, peace and rest, 
And the children tired of playing 

Lean upon each mother's breast, 
Sweet and tender as the lilies 

Hidden under leaves of green, 
From the shadow-mantled towers 

Like a seraph host unseen, 
Sound the silver bells of Easier 

On the still and frosty air, 
Rising, falling, 
Ever calling. 

All the people unto prayer. 



"Vf EN are faithful for so long only as 
temptations pass them by. If the 
temptation be but strong enough, then 
will the man yield, for every man, like 
every rope, hath his breaking strain, 
and passion is to men what gold and 
power are to women — the weight upon 
their weakness. 

H. RIDER HAGGARD 



DOING GOOD 

fpO do "no good" through all one's life, 

Is something not yet done. 
Each one, some earthly good must do 

From golden sun to sun. 
However small the act may be 

Along life's thorny way, 
Some smile, or kindly word, or deed 

Will glorify the day. 

The simple flower by the road 

That cheers the pilgrim's soul, 
The hand that gives the crust of bread 

And pays the poor man's toll. 
Shall nowise lose his just reward. 

For every act shall tell 
Of holiness, and plead for him 

To save his soul from Hell. 

Somewhere in every human life. 

Some bit of good is done; 
Some battle for the higher pow'r 

Man's loyalty has won. 
And this alone shall break the chains 

And set his spirit free, — 
And it shall be his guiding star 

Through all eternity. 



LOVE'S AWAKENING 

T know not where my friend ss gone, 

But oh, I feel that he is near, 
For I behold a form more grand 

Than earthly clay and sable bier. 
Sometimes I think his spirit dwells 

Within the fragrant crimson rose 
That S3ems to blossom all for me, 

Within the garden's leafy close. 

And sometimes in a happy song 

He seems to walk and talk with me: 
His very presence I can feci. 

His face I often almost see. 
The trilling of a little bird 

Will often bring his spirit near 
Until there is no room for grief, 

Nor pain, to cause one falling tear. 

For in this life he loved the things 

That God has giv'n to us to love — 
The rose that blossoms pure and sweet, 

The singing bird, the cooing dove. 
"And someday I will come again," 

He often used to say to me, 
"For I shall live in other forms 

To cheer the world, eternally." 



And so I know that he still lives 

And bides with us, in earthly life, 
And when the end comes, Death will locse 

The heavy chains of pain and strife; 
And I shall pass through night and cloud, 

With only Love to lead the way, 
Until I meet him face to face. 

Who walks and talks with me, today. 



T am fully and intensely aware that plants 
are conscious of love. You may give 
them all they need of food and drink, and 
they may grow and bloom, but there is a 
certain ineffable something that will be 
missing if you do not love them. Mine, is 
just a little old-fashioned garden where the 
flowers come together to praise the Lord and 
teach all who look upon to do likewise. 

CELIA THAXTER 



IN CELIA THAXTER'S GARDEN 

/\ T Celia Thaxter's garden-gate 
■^*~ The f iirest roses bloom, 
And fill the soul with sweetest joy, 

And scatter every gloom. 
And as one enters, lo, behold, 

From every blooming flow'r, 
They feel the presence of her charm. 

With all its soothing pow'r. 

The fragrant spikes of mignonette. 

And poppies crimson flame, 
Are ever telling of her love. 

And try to speak her name. 
And oft I think within those hearts 

Of red and white and blue, 
The spirit of her own dear self 

Each year is born anew. 

The songbirds seem to understand 

That she is near to them. 
And now and then the lily bloom 

Nods on its slender stem. 
The gentle summer breeze that sweeps 

Across the deep blue sea, 
Tries hard to make us understand 

That Death has set her free ! 



A DEEAM 

T drew the curtain by aiid looked 

Upon the starry night, 
And ah, the sight that came to me 

Filled all my soul with light. 
I saw a fountain rise and fall 

Aud heard a night-bird trill, 
Until my heart took up the theme — 

I looked, and drank my fill. 

The scene was changed ! and when I looked, 

I saw a prison-wall, 
A gallows dark and grim was there — 

A captive, slight and tall. 
I saw his face, 'twas ashen white; 

I saw him bend to kiss 
His mother's cheek and say "good-bye," 

I heard the vipers hiss. 

I rubbed my eyes, and when I looked, 

I saw a garden fair. 
Red roses blossomed by the path. 

And sweethearts lingered there. 
And from a cloudless sky there fell 

Great drops of crystal rain, 
A summer tempest, shattering 

The flow'rs in field and lane. 



I hoard a sob, and when I looked, 

I saw the prisoner's face 
All radiant with heavenly light — 

God's prt3S3nce filled the place. 
I heard a voice, 'twas sweet and low, 

"They tortured me, you know." 
"Yes, Lord," I heard the prisoner say, 

In accents weak and low. 

I heard a sigh, and when I looked, 

I saw two women there, 
A)id one was gray and bowed with years, 

And one was young and fair. 
They held a picture of a lad 

In prison stripes arrayed. 
Their faces bore the signs of grief — 

They prayed and prayed and prayed. 

I drew the curtain back, and looked 

Upon the starry sky, 
And heard the night- wind in the trees — 

Twas like a human cry. 
It beat upon my pallid cheek 

Like some poor soul astray; 
I leaned my head upon the sill 

And tried so hard to pray. 



A voice was singing, and I looked, 

And saw a cross of gold 
Upon a hilltop rich with flow'rs, 

I watched each one unfold. 
I saw the Saviour and the lad 

Sit down to talk and rest; 
'Twas Christ! the bleeding, thorn-crowned Christ! 

A star was on his breast. 

And when they passed me by, I looked 

Straight in that shining face, 
And lo ! it was the prison lad, 

Saved by God's loving grace. 
He looked at me and came so near, 

I felt his finger-tips 
Fresh from the very throne of God, 

Upon my quivering lips. 



T respect a man because he behaves like 
a man, not because he lives in a 
marble palace. 

CHARLES KLEIN 



HE WHO STANDS STILL IS LOST 

/^LIMB steadily brother, the mountain is steep, 

And the journey is lonely and drear, 
But soon the bright sun that is under a cloud 

Will burst into radiance clear. 
There is joy, there is hope, there is peace, there is rest, 

For those who in spite of the cost. 
Endure all the hardships that wait by the way! 

But he who stands still is lost. 

There's no more of the bleak bitter winter, my friend, 

Then there is of the warm summer days; 
There's no mora of the sorrow and wsepin:^ and pain, 

Than of laughter to brighten life's ways. 
For the winter has sunshine and beautiful hours 

Full of merriment, pleasure and song, — 
All nature is striving to bless and to cheer 

And to make us both valiant and strong. 

So climb with true patience in sunshine and cloud, 

For after the the darkness comes night. 
And the crown of the toiler is richer with pearls 

When he face with courage the fight. 
There is life, there is love, there is home, there is God, 

For those who in spite of the cost. 
Climb up to the summit unheeding their scars! 

But he who stands still is lost. 



THE POET'S EOSE 

JOYOUSLY the bells of Sabbath 
^ Vibrated through the air, 
On a cold, bleak, wiutry evening. 

Calling all the world to prayer, 
While within an attic gloomy. 

With the frost upon the pane. 
Sat a poet sad and weary. 

For his thoughts were o'er the main. 

Tattered was his coat, and faded, 

But his heart was ever true 
As the silver stars that glitter 

In the distant vaulted blue. 
And beneath his fingers chilly. 

Was a fragrant blood-red rose 
With a mass of velvet petals, 

Nestled close in sweet repose. 

"Oh thou sweet and fragrant blossom 

From my love across the sea. 
Breathe the message she entrusted 

To your care to give to me ! 
Tell me, oh I pray, sweet blossom 

That she sends to me a kiss. 
And a sweetheart's fondest blessing — 

For 'twould fill my soul with bliss!" 



But the blossom lay in silence, 

Close beneath his finger-tips — 
All unheeded were the pleadings 

From his pale and quiv'ring lips. 
But that night the while he slumbered, 

Lo ! a smile lit up his face. 
For tho rose, it breathed its message. 

In that cold and lonely place. 

And when rosy dawned the morning, 
And the sun was on the stair, 

Lo ! they found him limp and lifeless- 
Dead, within his study chair. 

And the red rose that he cherished, 
In its beauty rare and sweet, 

Pressed its clt^ar, dark velvet petals. 
Close against his pallid cheek. 



G 



IVE me the man who can hold on 
when others let go; who pushes 
ahead when others turn back; who gets 
stronger when others weaken; who knows 
no such words as "can't" or "give up," 
and I will show you a man who will win 
in the end, no matter who opposes him, 
no matter what obstacles confront him. 

ORISON SWETT MARSDEN 



/~\NCE there was a man and woman. 
^ They lived together. They loved, & 
lived, and planned, and worked. And 
when they died and went to Heaven 
they found they had been living in 
Paradise all the time. 



ELBERT HUBBARD 



"TTTE have bridged the chasm of the 
' * creeds, and have found brothers in 
every church. Every tear that is shed in 
pity for the race seems to us a part of 
the atonement, and in every heroic act 
God comes down in the form of man to 
redeem the world. Calvary is the sym- 
bol of that undying love which every 
age has witnessed and Christ is one of 
many who have proclaimed on uplifted 
cross the truth of heaven. But, my bro- 
ther, are the miracles related in ancient 
manuscripts better proof of God than 
the miracle of the morning-glory or the 
wonder of the evening star ? 

REV. HERBERT S. BIGELOW 



THE PRISONER'S SONG 

I^ET WEEN the bars I count the stars 

And hear the night- winds sighing, 
And from the sky, I hear the cry 

Of dusky bats a-flying. 
And as I watch each tiny torch 

In yonder sky a-blazing, 
My soul is blest and I'm at rest — 

The joy is oh a-mazing ! 

And as the morn in opal born 

Spreads out its silver veiling, 
I watch with pride, its vapors glide 

With tints of lilac trailing 
Where fragrant snows of budding rose 

Fill all the early morning 
With rich perfume— oh happy bloom, 

Love comes to me adorning ! 

And as the sun like jewels run 

Through emerald grasses slender, 
I lift my eyes to azure skies 

And bless my God, the sender. 
And though within these walls of sin 

I live and toil forever, 
God teaches me His mystery 

Which none can ever sever. 



In everj' flow'r I see Gcd's pow'r, 

And know that sins forgiven, 
Like thistle-down is softly blown 

Before the light winds driven. 
The song of bird at noonday heard, 

Soothes every pang of sorrow. 
So on the hill of Might and Will, 

I face with strength the Morrow^! 



TTTHEN" troiible is brewing, keep still. 
When your feelings are hurt, keep 
still — till you recover from your excite- 
ment, at any rate. Time works wonders. 
Wait till you can speak calmly, and then 
possibly you will not need to speak. 
Silence is the most massive thing con- 
ceiveable, sometimes. It is strength in 
very grandeur. 

DOCTOR BURTON 



THE LILAC BANDBOX 

T came to the old red house on the hill 

Where the stately tamaracks grow, 
And found in the parlor a lilac box 

Sprayed over with flowers of snow. 
It belonged to Pryntha in days gone by 

And it held her most treasured things, 
Her lavender veil and bonnet of lace, 

And ribbons and fluffy pink wings. 

But now, Pryntha lives in the city, you know. 

And dresses in satin and lace. 
With diamonds and pearls and emeralds too. 

To crown with their splendor, her face. 
And she has forgotten the things up here, 

That she loved in her girlhood days. 
And drives an automobile through the park, 

And ssts in a box at the plays. 

But the lilac box holds her old-fashioned things, 

The bonnet and lavender veil, 
And 'round the house standing here on thehiil, 

The flowers in the shadows grow pale. 
B ut her favorite perfume — sweet mignonette, 

To the lilac bandbox still clings. 
That Pryntha once loved and handled with care, 

Containing her most treasured things. 



LADY MAEY'S WISH 

TTARK ! again I hear the music 

Of the birds among the trees 
That surround the dear old homestead, 

Far away across the seas. 
And I see the mossy gables 

And the vine-clad sloping eaves 
Burdened with the trailing 

With its mass of emerald leaves. 

I can hear the church-bells chimiijg 

In the village just beyond. 
And the balmy winds of summer 

Sighing through the fields of corn. 
And I seem to catch the fragrance 

On the waft of winds that blow 
From the green and sunny corner 

Where the royal roses grow. 

I was but a bashful maiden 

When I left the dear old home, 
With a handsome dark-eyed stranger, 

In a foreign land to roam. 
Ah, I listened to his pleadings, 

And the stories that he told, 
And the gleaming of his jewels, 

And the glitter of his gold. 



While my parents sweetly slumbered 

In the peaceful arms of rest, 
Closely veiled I left the homestead 

Leaning on my lover's breast. 
Sorrow filled my childish bosom, 

Sorrow that no one can know, 
As I plucked these fragrant blossoms 

Where the royal roses grow. 

Long ago dear father's perished 

On the northern stormy sea. 
And dear mother died heart broken 

At the loss of him and me. 
But I'm told that still the roses 

Blossom in the sun and dew. 
And the song birds sing their carols 

Blithe and free the long days through. 

I am wealthy, and the splendor 

Of my mansion towers high; 
I have gardens rich with beauty — 

Pleasing to the human eye. 
But I'd give them all unflinching, 

Could I feel and really know 
I could find the same sweet comfort 

Where the royal roses grow. 



A SPRAY OF LAVENDER 

r\NLY a spray tjf lavender 

All dripping with crystal rain. 
And living a life of beauty 

Triumphant o'er every pain. 
Yes, rich are the spikes that cluster, 

A-kin to the heaven's blue, 
And sweet is the perfume rising 

Thrilling me through and through. 

Only a spray of lavender 

With its balm of healing — Love, 
And pure as the zephyrs blowing 

From the sun-crowned skies above. 
On my desk in a slender tumbler, 

Where I work from morn until night, 
I brought it to feed my spirit 

And flood my soul with its light. 

Only a spray of lavender 

I weave in a glad sweet song. 
To help life's weary soldier 

To stand in the battle strong. 
For flowers, and work, and laughter 

Can heal all sorrowful things, 
And bear the burden of trouble 

Away on their rainbow wings. 



THE PERFECT MAN 

rjlHE man who loves his fellowmen, 

The same, his God doth love; 
His character is true as steel 

And fixed as stars above. 
And everywhere he fiiids a friend 

Among the high and low, 
And men respect and honor him 

Wherever he may go. 

The children find in him a friend 

That fills their lives with joy. 
And with his hugs and kisses, they 

Can each wrong act destroy. 
He knows that life is but to love, 

And love is highest life. 
And he who walks with God each day 

Can baffle every strife. 

The world soon reads and finds that he 

Is every inch a man, 
And in his every walk of life 

They see God's holy plan. 
Tnere's honesty, and pity, too, 

And charity for all. 
And there's an arm to shield the weak 

And lift them when they fall. 



The man who lives through life unloved, 

Will find his pathway lone, 
And scattered o'er with dying flowers 

That should have decked his throne. 
He'll find that he has wandered where 

The things of evil are. 
Since love is life and life is love, — 

Man's true and sTuidinar star. 



A T the echoing of a step. Love blooms. 
"^ I say Love blooms, and bends her 
beauty down to him who passeth by. He 
plucketh the red cup that is full of honey 
and beareth it away across the desert, 
for there la only one perfect flower. That 
flower is Love ! 

H. RIDER HAGGARD 



THE GOLDEN TREE 

TT grew in a rich man's garden, 

The beautiful golden tree, 
And through it the light winds whispered 

And sang the songs of the sea. 
It sang of a soul not happy, 

Though with gold and jewels galore, 
A palace and servants and horses. 

And roses abloom at his door. 

It grew in a poor man's garden, 

The beautiful golden tree. 
And through it the sunbeams filtered 

And it sang to the tenants, three. 
It sang, but they were not happy; 

They worried and fretted each day. 
Love came, but still they were praying 

That fortune might come their way. 

They prayed and their pray'rs were answered 

But not in the way they thought, 
For gold cannot make one happy — 

Ah, friend, what has gold not bought? 
The rich man could not be happy. 

Although he was rolling in wealth. 
He took so much time at pleasure, 

He sacrificed manhood and health. 



God plants in every man's garden, 

A beautiful golden tree, 
And sends him the fruit in its season, 

And has blest him and made him free. 
We toil, and Labor rewards, 

For all the kind deeds we have done — 
We fall from the blow of the tempest. 

But rise with the morning's briorht sun. 



rpHE thought of having friends and of 
being a friend comes to us like a 
benison and a benediction. The recog- 
nition in your life of the fact that to 
have friends you must be one, is a relig- 
ion. We are traveling toward the beau- 
tiful City of the Ideal and the suburbs 
are very pleasant. 

ELBERT HUBBARD 



WISTARIA BLOSSOMS 

T dreamed last night that I was free 
-^ And walked, dear love, with you, 
Where sweet Wistaria blossoms hung 

In clusters f aintlj' blue. 
We heard the whisperings of the sea 

Upon the silver shore, 
We heard the singing of the lark 

Beside your cottage door. 

I'm sure that heaevn ne'er could be 

More fair than that or.e day 
Nor blue Wistarias half so sweet 

Nor song of bird so gay. 
But well — alas — 'twas but a dream, 

And never may come true, 
But prison-walls can never bar 

The love I have for you. 

For lo, you gathered just a few 

Of those sweet blossoms gay. 
And one, you pinned upon my coat, 

That blessed summer's day. 
We walked and talked and oh, it seemed 

So good that I was free ! 
Our hearts were welded firm and fast, 

That hour beside the sea. 



But dear, some kind and loving soul 

Has sent a flow'r to me; 
It is the sweet Wistaria, dear, 

Like those beside the sea. 
No written line was sent with them, 

But in their fragrant blue, 
I saw a face — a loving face — 

'Twas you, sweetheart, 'twas you! 



TN the hour of distress and misery the 
eye of every mortal turns to friend- 
ship; in the hour of gladness and con- 
viviality, what is your want? It is 
friendship. When the heart overflows 
with gratitude, or with any other sweet 
and sacred sentiment, what is the word 
to which it would give utterance? A 
friend. 

W. S. LANDOR 



I WAS IN PEISON 

T was in prison and fettered 

Desolate, sad and alone; 
My food was coarse and scanty, 

And my bed was out of stone. 
I prayed for some kindly visit, 

But my prayers all went astray; 
Dark shadows arose like phantoms, 

And haunted me night and day. 

I dreamed, and I dreamed of your kindness 

VVhon I was happy and free. 
And I thought that you rose and followed 

The Man of Galilee. 
I listened and dreamed and worshiped 

And tried to believe that I, 
Could build a Castle of Beauty 

Under a clouded sky. 

I was in prison and fettered 

And lo, you never came near; 
You whom I thought my brother, 

And loyal from year to year. 
You could have at least sent sunshine 

Into my lonely life; 
You could have made less heavy, 

My burden of sin and strife ! 



Bat now your love has been tested ! 

God has revealed it to me, 
While I, like Job have been chastened 

With fires of God's mystery, 
'Till the clouds that darkened my pathway 

Flas turned to silver and gold, 
And white and pure as the lilies, 

I have seen the Truth unfold. 

I was in prison and fettered. 

And I thought and dreamed you. 
You ! whom I heard in the temple 

Among the faithful few. 
But I saw through a window darkened 

By Vanity's subtle art; 
I failed to see the falsehood 

That ruled and reigned in your heart. 



"ly/rUSIC is a bigger weapon for stopping 
disorder than anything on earth. 
bandmaster hartley 
(of the titanic) 







THE WRECK OF THE TITANIC 

N througli the night with its thousand stars 
And the broken ice like snowy spars, 

The good ship rode with mirth and song, 

A palace of wealth for a happy throng. 

"Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee! 

E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me." 

But harken ! oh God, I hear a cry 

From men and women who dare not die; 
The lights grow dim — and all is drear 

For the Angel of Death is hovering near, 
And lips grow pale, and hearts beat fast, — 

For an iceberg shattered the brow and mast. 

A roar like thunder reiids the night, 

A wail of woe— a flash of light, 
The funnels fall, the lifeboats toss, 

The billows knell the vessel's loss, 
Yet, there are men, brave, firm and strong. 

Who face their death with God's sweet song. 

'Tis gone! the gallant ship is gone, 

In pearly splendor breaks the morn, 

And bits of wreckage here and there, 

And a haunting song— so like a pray'r. 

"Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee! 

Still all my song shall be— Nearer to Thee.' 



A LEGEND OF THE PANSY 

TN purple garments richly strewn 
-^ With beads of milky pearls, 
Lorena walked the garden through 

With diamonds in her curls. 
And at her side a gallant youth 

In army's loyal blue 
Beneath the spreading cypress tree, 

Pledged ever to be true. 

*Twas 'mid the fume of fire and smoke 

Upon a battlefield, 
The soldier lay in throes of death 

Upon his blade of steel. 
But ere he died, these lines he wrote 

With blood fresh from his breast; 
"Lorena, when these lines you get, 

My soul will be at rest." 

Beneath the mellow silver moon, 

Lorena at the gate 
Received the letter from her love 

And read his touching fate. 
They found her when the morning dawned 

In opal, pearl and rose; 
Her purple gown was drenched with dew, 

She died, 'mid flow'ry snows. 



And from the spot where she had lain 

There sprang to life anew, 
A lovely flow'r in purple tints 

And palest shades of blue. 
Its center was of yellow gold, 

So like her sunny curls, 
With diamond drops of crystal rain 

That glimmered like her pearls. 

It grew in marvelous beauty ,rare, 

So like a human face, 
It seemed to be her very self 

With all her childish grace. 
And still it blossoms every year 

Through wind and silver rain. 
And so we know that in its heart, 

Lorena lives ayrain. 



TLT OW curious the thought of the past 
is ! Nearly forty years ago this 
month I was married. The moonlight 
on the water looked exactly the same 
that evening as it does now. How 
many lives we seem to live in one ! I 
heard the cricket in the grass, the same 
sound I hear to-night. 

CELIA THAXTER 



SWEET COLUMBINE 

OWEET columbine of olden days, 

^ You bring to mind sweet pleasures, 

And many songs and happy lays 

In love's enraptured measures. 
You bring to me a host of friends, 

A summer's golden morning. 
And many a rainbow flow'r that bends 

My path in life adorning. 

You speak to me and bless the way 

That often seems so dreary. 
And bid me greet the coming day 

And cease to be so weary. 
You fill my soul with love and peace 

And set the joy-bells ringing, 
And every day these joys increase 

And I keep up my singing. 

Sweet columbine of olden days, 

Help me in song and story. 
To cheer the toilers in life's w^ays, 

And give to God the glory. 
Help me to live the patient life, 

And bless me with your beauty, 
That I may conquer every strife 

And wear the crown of duty ! 



AN OLD LOVE SONG 

T can hear the bluebird singing 

In the orchard by the sea, 
I can hear his merry music 

O, so sweet. 
Just the same as when you whispered 

Of the love you bore for me, 
As you knelt in Love's sweet fashion 
At my feet. 

O, those sacred vows we plighted 

To be true 'till Death should part. 
Living closely to each other 

Day by day. 
How the wild-rose burst in beauty 

While its fragrance did impart, 
As it kissed that sunny morning 
In its sway. 

Bat those years, they now have vanished 

And we are old and gray. 
Still the bluebird sings his carols 

Mid the dew, 
Just as in the early springtime 

When the flowers were sweet with May, 
And you told me that you loved me 
Just and true. 



THE ROSE AND THE VIOLIN 

rnWAS years since I had tuned the springs. 

For I am past youth's prime, 
And I am bent with many years 

Beneath the hand of Time. 
But when I took her picture up 

Last night at early dusk, 
A fragrance seemed to fill the room 

Of lavender and musk. 

And so I tuned the strings once mt re 

And played the dear old tune, 
And sang the song I sung that night 

So long ago in June. 
The crimson rose she flung to me 

Gave back its breath again, 
And twixt her presence and the flow'r, 

I sang the sweet refrain. 

And ah ! I felt upon my brow 

The touch of shad'wy lips* 
And on my arm in gentle love, 

I felt her finger tips. 
But her lips and finger tips were cold 

As autumns frost and gloom; 
Ah, can it be, she waits for me 

Within the silent tomb ? 



The withered rose and violin 

Once more I've lain away; 
Its brittle leaves of sober brown 

Are falling to decay. 
But while the days of life pass by 

As if on fleeting wings, 
The spirit of that happy song 

Still lives among the strings. 



TT is not for you to waste your time in 
useless speculation as to the know- 
ablo sourse of your life-stream, or in 
seeking to trace it in the ocean. It is 
enough for you to know that it is, and 
that while it runs its brief course, it is 
yours to make it yield its blessings. 
For this you must train your head and 
and eye and brain — you must be in life 
a fisherman, 

HAROLD BELL WRIGHT 



THS SUNSET CLOUDS 

"I 've been watching the clouds of sunset 

^ Settling over the hills, 

With their snowy whiteness a-glinimer 

Like the finest of lacy frills. 
Very soon, they were 'broirdered with golden 

Upon a crimson hue, 
Till they looked like red rose petals 

Against a sky of blue. 

Then softly they deepened in color, 

Just as our dear friends do, 
When we need most, a hand to help us, 

A kind word or two. 
And I thought as I watched it fading 

There in the summer sky, 
I would try and strengthen some spirit, 

Sick and ready to die. 

I would try and utter some sentence, 

Or sing some happy song. 
And walk with them and be merry, 

And help to make them strong; 
To make them joyous and helpful 

As those bright cloudlets do 
Gathering over the hilltops 

Against a sky of blue. 



Bat ROW the clouds grow darker 

And I am left alone, 
Save for a star in its beauty 

So like a great white throne. 
And that shall be light to lead me 

Forever on the way, 
And teach my soul to be thankful 

For one sweet summer day. 



T\0 not seek happiness in what is 
misnamed pleasure; but seek it 
in what is termed study. Keep your 
conscience clear, your curiosity keen 
and embrace every opportunity of 
cultivating your mind. 

HUGH MILLER 



"A /TAKE each day useful, and prove that 
you know the worth of time by em- 
ploying it well. Then youth will be 
happy, old age without regret, and life a 
beautiful success. 

Louisa M. Alcott. 

FACE your deiiciencies and acknow- 
ledge them, but do not let them 
master you. Let them teach you patience, 
sweetness and insight When we do the 
best we can, we never know what 
is wrought in our own life, or in the 
life of another. 

HELEN KP:LLER 

"TTy'E are not sent into this world to do 
' ' anything into which we cannot 
put our hearts. We have certain work to 
do for our bread and that is to be done 
strenously; other work to do for our de- 
light and that is to be done heartily; 
neither is to be done by halves or shifts, 
but with a will; and what is not worth 
this effort is not to be done at all. 

JOHN RUSKIN 



A FLOWER 

T N Life's garden there's a flower, 
-^ Leaves of purest shining gold, 
Filled with heaven's rarest beauty, 

Every morning to unfold. 
'Tis the sacred flower of Friendship 

And it lives from day to day, 
While the others fade and wither. 
And the winds toss them away. 

God has made it pure and sacred 

As the holy stars above; 
'Tis the emblem of His kingdom, 

'Tis the mercy of His love. 
Let this sweet and sacred flower 

Bloom within your heart today. 
It will help you when the tempest 

Sweeps across your narrow way. 

It will help you when the sunset 

Deepens with its shadows long, 
And 'twill fill your soul with gladness, 

Like a half -forgotten song. 
Learn that Heaven's sweetest flower 

Shatters not, in winter's blast. 
But it blooms and thrives profusely, 

Evergreen, unto the last ! 



THE TILLAGE INFIDEL 

TTE used to loaf 'round the station — 

Joe, the village infidel; 
The people said he was worthless — 

A sure candidate for hell. 
He didn't think much of the Christians 

That passed him by every day 
So different from Jesus of Nazareth, 

Who scattered love all the way. 

He didn't give "dimes" to the wealthy. 

Or those far richer than he, 
But he had a heart for the toilers. 

And was filled with charity. 
He used to shake hands with Labor, 

And in every cheery word 
He spoke, there was more real sunshine. 

Then often in sermons heard. 

Whenever he heard of sickness, 

He would lend a helping hand 
If the stricken one was needy 

And a toiler of the land. 
His watch ward to heaven was "sunshine," 

And forgiveness unto all. 
And a hand to the brother, worthless, 

Who from manhood used to fall. 



He always was near to strengthen, 

And then bring him safely back 
And got him once more well started 

Off, on the straight main track. 
But he didn't count much on the church-men- 

The followers of the bell, 
And so he was called the infidel — 

One of the black imps of hell. 

But I think old Joe's religion 

Was something after all ! 
For it kept right on to the finish, 

Until he had reached the wall. 
And his soul when it passed, was happy, 

Because the pastor had said. 
Before old Joe died, he muttered: 

"Green signals! O. K. ahead!** 



/^ IVE me every day a little work to 
^-^ occupy my mind; a little suffering 
to sanctify my spirit; a little good to do 
to comfort my heart. 

C. M. YONGE 



IN THE SHADOW OF MT. TAMALPAIS 

TN the shadow of Mt. Tamalpais 

Stands a prison dark and grim 
In a garden rich with blossoms, 

Snowy lilies fair and slim. 
There are men in stripes, and shaven 

All alike, it seems — but ah, 
Some have caught the Holy vision — 

Wisemen and the Wondrous Star. 

In the shadow of Mt. Tamalpais 

There are men both vile and mean, 
But you'll find them in the Temple — 

With the righteous they are seen. 
But among them there are WHrm hearts, 

Under sin's deep branded sear. 
So to-day, they bow and worship; 

They have seen the Wondrous Star. 

In the shadow of Mt. Tamalpais 

Sweetest flowers bud and blow; 
Climbing roses pink and fragrant, 

Lilies white as flakes of snow. 
And when midnight sounds in music 

On the warm and sultry air, 
Many a soul has found sweet comfort 

Through a single hour of pray'r. 



In the shadow of Mt. Tamalpais 
Stands a prison dark and grim, 

But the spirit of the Master 

Walks and talks with men within. 

And when Christmas morning settles 
Like a halo o'er the place, 

You will see a beam of glory- 
In each sin-forgiven face. 



mHE rich are difficult to please. They 
must have the finest grass to sit down 
on and their gardens must afford the 
most delicious shade. But the poor do not 
exact so much from the good God, and 
are content with the more simple things 
of life and are content and grateful to 
1 ly their heads on the neares*: stone. The 
weeds and thistles do not disturb them. 
?iothing, is bad to those who know the 
virtue of all things that God has created. 
If we knew the use of the smallest herb 
that we crush beneath our feet, we would 
neither despise its odor or appearance. 
People too often despise the things which 
appear neither beautiful nor good, and in 
so doing deprive themselves of what is 
valuable and useful. 

GEORGE SAND 



AVE MAEIA 

T heard a song in my dreams last night, 

It was sweet and clear and grand, 
And it filled my soul with radiant light 

As if from the Promised Land. 
It was the voice of my mother dear, 

Singing in Paradise, 
That I saw beyond the clouds appear 

And the azure of the skies. 

And I never can drive it from my soul 

Though I walk the paths of sin, 
For it glorifies the heavenly goal 

Like the sunshine pouring in. 
And so she came in my dreams last night 

And sang as in days of yore, 
And her song was a prayer of holy light 

And she sang it o'er and o'er. 

And this I know, when I'm called to go 

To join the heavenly throng, 
I shall leave this world of pride below 

And shall hear that glad sweet song. 
Shall hear the song that has lifted me 

Into a holier clime, 
Out from the depth of a boisterous sea, 

Up to a life sublime. 



THENAZARENE 

1 N a lowly manger sleeping, 

^ Lay the Christ, an infant child, 

While dear Mary sang God's praises 

And the angels sweetly smiled^ 
Overhead a star was shining, 

'Twas the love of God, I ween, 
Leading shepherds from the mountains 

To the little Nazarene. 

O, the songs of praise and worship. 

And the jewels that were brought, 
And the stern black hate of Herod, 

Brooding on a bloody thought ! 
But the child he grew to manhood. 

Teaching men of things unseen 
That would make them heirs of Heaven, 

This was Christ, the Nazarene. 

Lo ! he healed the sick and palsied, 

Gave the blind their sight again. 
Broke the chains that bound the cripple, 

Soothed a world of grief and pain. 
Still the bitter hate of Herod 

Plotted on amid the scene 
Of the miracles encompassed 

By the lowly Nazarene. 



On the height cf Calvary's mountain, 

Crucified, the Christ was nailed. 
But when God spoke in the thunder, 

Lo, their hardened faces paled- 
Still among the Eoman soldiers, 

Herod's hate was to be seen, 
For some souls were ever saying, 

**Was not this the Nazarene?" 

And the question still is pouring 

From the lips of mighty men; 
Even poets sometimes mock Him, 

Skeptical with tongue and pen. 
But to all the world I answer: 

"He's the Son of God ! so lean 
On His strength and love, forever ! 

Follow Christ, the Nazarene." 



TT is said: One will not complain unless 
he feels the pain ! True, but who can 
tell that one's estimate of the extent and 
nature of the injury, is correct? 

SALIM Y. ALKAZIN 



